Old Friends
by dustnik
Summary: Set in 1960–1964. An elderly Thomas goes to work for Lady Mary at the Dower House.
1. Chapter 1

After Thomas' second bout with pneumonia in as many winters, George Crawley, the eighth Earl of Grantham, made the difficult decision that it was time for Barrow to step down as the butler of Downton Abbey. His wife had been after him for years to hire a younger, more stylish man, but George was very fond of the old boy and couldn't bear to see him go. However, the doctor made it clear that the job had become too much for the elderly servant and it was putting his health in jeopardy. George pulled the bell rope, and in due course, Thomas joined him in the library.

The old man's clothing hung loosely on his shrunken frame. "Yes, m'lord?"

Now that he was there, George was unsure how to proceed. "Please sit down, Barrow." He indicated one of the sofas flanking the fireplace. After the surprised-looking servant obeyed, he took a seat across from him. "You've been working here a long time."

"Fifty years, m'lord. I started as a footman in 1910, back in your grandfather's day." The milestone had been marked by a celebration at the Abbey.

"Yes, and we think you deserve to take it easy now."

Thomas looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"We believe it's time for you to retire." He quickly added, "You'll have a pension, of course, and I intend to be generous."

"I hope you weren't inconvenienced too much by my recent illness."

"Not at all," the Earl assured him, "but the doctor feels you've been working too hard and it's time to slow down."

"I see." Barrow bowed his silver head in thought. Finally, he asked meekly, "Where am I to go?"

George was taken aback. "Why, you could go anywhere you like—London or somewhere by the sea perhaps. You could rent a room or even take a flat."

"A flat?" the butler repeated doubtfully.

"I could let you have a cottage on the estate if you'd prefer that."

"What would I do all day on my own?"

George realized this was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. "Let me think on it. I'm sure we can come up with something that will suit you."

Thomas rose slowly to his feet. "Yes, Your Lordship," he said with a sigh of resignation.

Several days later, the peer tried again. "How would you feel about working for my mother at the Dower House?"

"Lady Mary?"

"Your duties would be substantially reduced, and you wouldn't have to deal with all the stairs."

Thomas appeared to consider the offer. "Would she want me, m'lord?"

George had already discussed the matter with his mother. "As a matter of fact, it was her idea. She gets fearful on her own since Mr. Talbot died, and she'd feel safer with a man about." He knew that Downton was far from the hotbed of crime his mother made out and the elderly Barrow would be worse than useless if a gang of armed thugs suddenly descended on the Dower House, but it seemed the answer to both their problems.

"Then I accept," Thomas replied gratefully.

"Good. I'll let her know straight away."

* * *

That was several months ago, and the arrangement had worked out well for everyone involved. There was a new butler installed at the Abbey, a cocky, young chap whom Barrow despised. At the Dower House, the only other indoor staff was a woman from the village named Nancy who came in six days a week to cook and clean, not that the fastidious Thomas didn't keep things tidy. However, his role had evolved into more of a companion and confidante to Lady Mary than a butler. She seemed to enjoy having someone from the old days about the place.

Thomas still insisted on preparing the tea and serving it himself, much to Nancy's dismay. "Why don't you let me do that, Mr. Barrow? It's too heavy for you."

"I can manage perfectly well, thank you," he snapped. These days, there were always two cups on the tray, as Mary was adamant that he join her. In truth, he looked forward to this time as much as she, when they could discuss the events of the day, exchange village gossip, and reminisce about the past.

As he stepped into the drawing room carefully balancing the tray, she turned to him. "You must speak to the gardener. He insists on growing turnips when he knows how much I dislike them."

"I'll have a word, m'lady." Thomas poured out her tea, holding the tray steady while she added milk and sugar. After she had taken her cup, he filled his own and gently lowered himself into the empty chair beside her.

Her hair was gray now, and her slender frame appeared frail, but there remained a shrewd glint in her eyes, not unlike her late grandmother's. "I've had a letter from Lady Hexham. She and Lord Hexham are motoring to London this weekend. They might stop by Downton if they have the time, although they'd probably go straight on to the Abbey."

"I'll let Master George know to expect them."

"I think you mean Lord Grantham," she reminded him.

"Yes, of course," he replied apologetically. Even though George was a grown man now with a family of his own, Thomas still saw him as the little boy who used to ride on his back.

She reached for a newspaper on the table beside her, searching for stories that might interest him. He had trouble with his eyes, making it difficult for him to read. "Princess Margaret is marrying Antony Armstrong-Jones. The wedding is going to be televised."

Thomas merely shrugged his indifference. He still remembered hearing the wireless for the first time when the King opened the British Empire Exhibition back in 1924.

Mary turned to the sporting news, reading the headline, "Burnley F.C. Win the Football League First Division Title with a 2–1 Win over Manchester City." She looked up to gauge his level of interest. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"It means I owe Joe down at the pub a couple of quid."

"Have you been gambling, Barrow?"

"It's the only vice I have left, m'lady," he explained with a grin that made him look decades younger. "I've been forced to give up smoking and drinking."

Mary turned to the obituaries. "Goodness! The Duke of Crowborough has died. Do you remember him?"

The butler's expression made it clear he did. "I attended him when we were in London and again when he stayed at the Abbey."

"We all thought he was going to propose to me, but when he found out the estate was entailed on Mr. Crawley, he changed his mind and left." It was apparent that even after all these years, she still felt the sting of his rejection.

Thomas felt guilty about his part in the humiliating episode and attempted to soften her disappointment. "He wouldn't have made you happy."

"Why do you say that?"

The old man fidgeted in his seat. "He wasn't a ladies' man." And there it was.

She paused to take in his meaning. "Are you saying—"

"Yes, m'lady."

"How could you possibly know that?"

Thomas didn't answer.

"You—and the Duke?"

He nodded. He knew she was aware of his sexual proclivities, although they never spoke of them. "He broke it off with me on his visit to Downton."

Mary appeared shocked. "Did you love him?"

"I thought so at the time but not really."

She became curious. "Have you ever been in love, Barrow?"

He didn't know if she'd heard about the incident with Jimmy Kent. "Once. He was a footman at the Abbey." It all seemed so long ago now.

"What happened?"

"Lord Grantham sent him away."

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded sincere.

"Nothing would have come of it anyway. He wasn't like me, you see."

She placed a comforting hand over his for a moment before reaching for a biscuit.

* * *

Nancy was ready to leave for the day. She had prepared a cold supper for the pair for later and left it in the refrigerator. They had their dinner at mid-day now, Lady Mary in the dining room, with Thomas serving. He ate his meal below stairs afterward. Nancy collected her coat and purse. She'd just pop into the drawing room to say goodbye to the old dears. God knows what they found to talk about.


	2. Chapter 2

More than three years had passed since Thomas went to work for Lady Mary at the Dower House. He continued to perform his duties as best he could at his advanced age: waiting at table, answering the door and the telephone, and serving the tea. If anyone thought it strange, the two of them alone together in that big house, neither of them ever knew, not that they would have cared. At their time of life, they were probably considered to be beyond impropriety, or perhaps it was suspected that the butler's interests had always lain in another direction.

On Sunday mornings, Thomas would get out the Crawley's ancient Daimler to take them to church. He had learned to drive, more or less, having caused a number of minor accidents over the years. Motorists and pedestrians alike were quick to get out of the way whenever they spotted Mr. Barrow coming down the road. Mary continued to ride in the back seat, never having learned to drive.

After church, they always went on to the Abbey for their dinner as it was Nancy's day off. Mary dined with her son and his family upstairs while Thomas joined Lord Grantham's servants below. He then spent the afternoon dozing in a rocking chair in the corner, much to the amusement of the younger staff, until Lady Mary sent for him. Later for their supper, Thomas would fix a small meal consisting of tinned meat or fruit and cheese. Neither of them had much of an appetite those days, and it was enough.

In the evenings, the two usually gathered around the television in the drawing room. It had become their chief form of entertainment. Thomas' favorite show was _The Avengers_ , a stylish series about British spies, while Mary preferred more serious programming. On that night, they tuned in to _Sunday Night at the London Palladium_ , a live, variety show hosted by Bruce Forsyth. A pop singer and a comedian performed before Bruce announced a new singing group called the Beatles to a roar of screaming, female fans. Mary and Thomas exchanged a baffled look as the foursome broke into _From Me to You_ , followed by the bass guitar player announcing _I'll Get You_. Thomas found his baby face very pretty, especially with his longish hair and tight little suit. "Well, Barrow, what do you think?" Mary asked.

"I'm not sure what to think, m'lady," Thomas replied honestly.

"They look like girls with those hairstyles—very ugly."

"Oh, I don't know."

Mary smiled in amusement. Since his confession about the Duke of Crowborough and Jimmy Kent, the topic of Thomas' sexual preferences had become a never-ending source of curiosity for the woman. Her questions had made him very uncomfortable at first, but he eventually got used to them. He put her interest down to just another quirk of the aristocracy, and in truth, it was a relief not to have to hide that part of himself. "So which one do you fancy?" Mary inquired.

"The one on the left, I guess." He indicated Paul McCartney, although he didn't know his name at the time.

"Yes, I suppose he's the best looking one of the lot."

By now, the group had finished _She Loves You_ , and Paul was attempting to introduce the last number, _Twist and Shout_. His words were drowned out by the screams of the young fans until another member of the group told them to shut up. This was met with applause from the older members of the audience and a chuckle from Thomas.

Paul was encouraging the audience to join in by clapping their hands or stamping their feet, with the other man demonstrating the actions in a daft manner that made everyone laugh. Thomas was amused by his cheeky, irreverent attitude while Mary seemed appalled. "Well, they won't last," she declared, putting an end to any further discussion on the subject. She switched off the telly and returned to her chair. "The clock on the mantel is running slow again."

"I'm sure I could fix it if I could see better."

"You need spectacles."

It was an old battle of theirs, but Thomas had managed to hold her off so far. His still-considerable vanity wouldn't allow him to be seen wearing spectacles. "They wouldn't help, m'lady."

"Nonsense. We'll make an appointment with Dr. Chambers in York and hear what he has to say about it." She herself had worn reading glasses for many years. "How do you know so much about clocks anyway?"

"My dad was a clockmaker. I grew up with clocks."

"I never knew that."

Thomas was tempted to remind her that she never asked but held his tongue.

"Do you come from a large family?"

"Just my parents and me and an older sister. She died some years ago."

"Did she have any children?"

"Two, but I don't know them."

"Why not?"

After all these years, it still hurt to think of his family's rejection. "Their parents never approved of me."

Mary seemed to understand and changed the subject. "So what do you say to a little gin rummy—a penny a point?"

It was another favorite diversion of theirs, and he quickly accepted. Mary retrieved a deck of cards and a pad of paper and pencil to keep score, and the two took their seats at a small table. They were both fiercely competitive and determined to win. Thomas took the first two hands, but Mary rebounded on the third, racking up a large number of points. "Ha! That puts me in the lead." She studied the butler carefully. "Barrow, there's something I've been meaning to speak with you about."

He looked up from his cards. "M'lady?"

"I've fixed it with Lord Grantham that if something should happen to me, you'd be able to stay here as long as you wish. Everything would go on as it does now with all the bills going to the Abbey. You wouldn't have to worry about a thing. And I've left you the car and a little money—not much—but enough to make sure you'd be comfortable if you wanted to move away or do some traveling."

Thomas was astounded. "That's very generous of you, but I couldn't possibly accept."

"Nonsense! The children will inherit the bulk of my estate, of course, but I wanted you to be looked after too."

"I don't deserve it."

"Certainly you do. You've been good to me these last few years. I don't have any close friends, and I've come to value your companionship."

Thomas was touched by her words. "I-I don't know what to say, m'lady."

"You don't have to say anything. It's all arranged now, and if you try to argue, you'll make me very cross."

He smiled. "We can't have that."

"Good. That's settled then. Now, whose turn is it anyway?"


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas was in his mid-seventies that winter, a very old man indeed. He had come down with a severe cold that left him tired and achy. Lady Mary promptly summoned the doctor over the butler's objections. The young physician appeared duly concerned and ordered the elderly servant to bed. Mary instructed Nancy to make up the bedroom next to hers and had his things moved in there. She wanted to be nearby in case he needed anything during the night.

The two of them had lived together for several years now, the last relics of a bygone age. It was an unusual arrangement by anyone's standards, but it worked well for them. Mary had never cared for the company of other women, finding them silly and rather dull, while Barrow's taciturn nature and dry sense of humor suited her. However, the butler's illness had put him out of sorts and made him rather gloomy. _What he needs is something to buck him up_ , Mary thought. A sudden idea occurred to her, bringing a gleeful smile to the woman's face.

* * *

Days later, a weakened Thomas lay in bed propped up with pillows. There was a knock on his open door, and Mary entered, followed by a rather short man with a mustache. "You have a guest," she announced mysteriously.

The visitor fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't suppose you remember me."

Thomas' growing smile said differently. "Jimmy! Is that really you?" He thought he might be hallucinating.

"Lady Mary rang and invited me to come." He didn't mention his shock at receiving the call forty years after leaving Downton.

The woman explained, "I thought it would cheer you to see an old friend. I found his number in a London telephone directory and asked him here." A curious look passed between mistress and servant. "Well, I'll leave you to catch up then," she said, closing the door behind her.

Jimmy lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. "I understand you haven't been well."

Thomas shrugged. "It's nothing. Old age, really." He changed the subject. "So what happened after you left us? We never heard."

"I meant to write," Jimmy replied guiltily. "I took a job in a house in London and met a girl there. We got married, and then the kids came along and … " His voice trailed off awkwardly.

"Are you still in service?"

"No, I worked for an insurance company until my retirement."

"It sounds boring," Barrow declared.

"It was."

"But you've been happy?"

"I have. My wife and I are expecting another grandchild next month."

"That's terrific, Jimmy." The Jimmy Kent sitting there no longer resembled the handsome youth of days gone by. His golden curls had faded to a nondescript shade of gray, and he had a decided paunch, but to Thomas, he looked much the same.

The guest continued, "The village has changed since I left. Pip's corner is covered with houses now."

"A lot of things have changed."

"How long have you worked for Lady Mary?"

"I was the butler at the Abbey until a few years ago. When she offered me the job here, I took it."

Jimmy fixed him with a curious smile. "And you live here all alone, just the two of you?"

"Why, Mr. Kent, what are you implying?" Thomas asked facetiously.

"Nothing," Jimmy was quick to assure him. "I was just thinking what old Carson would say."

"He's probably turning over in his grave."

"Whatever happened to the old gang?"

"Dead—or most of them. Daisy still lives nearby. I get a card from her at Christmastime."

The mention of Christmas triggered a memory for the former footman. "Remember the horrible fruitcakes Mrs. Patmore used to make every year?"

"We said we could use them as doorstops."

"Alfred liked them, though."

"He always was an idiot," Thomas added meanly, causing Jimmy to chuckle. The decades seemed to slip away for a moment, and they were once more the brash, young men of long ago.

Jimmy studied his friend, grown so old and frail. "How has life treated you?"

"I can't complain. I had a home and my work. What more did I need?"

"Was there ever—what I mean to say—is there anyone special in your life?"

"There was, but it was many years ago now."

"He must have really been something."

"He was." Thomas didn't elaborate further.

The visitor rose to leave, anxious not to tire the ailing butler. "I'd better go, or I'll miss my train. If I'm late, the missus will worry. It was great seeing you again, Thomas."

"You too, Jimmy," the butler replied with a little quaver.

When he was gone, Mary returned. "Well, Barrow?"

Thomas' eyes were bright with excitement. "Thank you, m'lady. Thank you for that."

She heard the barely controlled emotion in his voice and left him alone with his memories.

* * *

Despite Jimmy's visit, Thomas' condition worsened. Whenever he took a breath, it was accompanied by a wheezing sound, and he was plagued by a persistent cough and low-grade fever. The doctor diagnosed it as bronchitis and suggested moving him to the hospital, but Thomas was adamant in his refusal. Mary put on a brave face, but deep down, she was frightened. The thought of life without her companion was a cheerless one.

Barrow seemed to sense her fear. "It's alright, m'lady. Dying isn't so bad, and I've had a good innings."

Mary wouldn't hear of it. "You're not going to die. I absolutely forbid it."

Thomas smiled slightly at her. "There are some things even _you_ can't control."

"We'll see about that." It seemed strange to think that after a string of suitors and two husbands, the man she had grown old with was Thomas Barrow.

Over the next week, his health continued to deteriorate. Lord Grantham had suggested a private nurse, but Mary declined, knowing it would drive both her and Thomas mad. She preferred to see to things herself with the help of the stalwart Nancy.

She sat in a chair beside his bed watching over him one evening as he slept. At last, he awoke, and she greeted him with a smile. "Are you feeling better after your nap?"

"A bit, m'lady." His voice had grown very weak.

"You missed supper, but Nancy fixed a plate for you before she left. I'll get it."

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat." Receiving no reply, she conceded. "I suppose it can wait a little while." She regarded him with a curious expression. "Have you been happy, Barrow?"

Thomas looked surprised by the question. "As happy as I can be."

"I hope we've been good employers."

He struggled to reply. "Your family kept me on, knowing what I was, and I'm grateful, m'lady."

Mary never recalled the butler's "difference" being an issue. "You were a good servant—quick and efficient in your work. We were lucky to have you."

Thomas seemed pleased at that.

"And what about your personal life? There must have been men over the years."

"Some—not many—but nothing ever came of it."

Mary was confused. "What did you hope would come of it?"

There was a long pause until she thought he'd fallen asleep again. Finally, he spoke very softly, "I wanted someone to love me."

She wasn't sure what to say to that and rose to her feet. "I'll get your supper now." She made her way to the kitchen and soon returned with a tray. Immediately, she was struck by an eerie silence in the room, and she realized the butler's wheezing breaths had stopped. Mary promptly set down the tray and hurried to his side. Thomas' eyes were closed, and his face wore an expression of serenity it had never known in life. She took his scarred hand in hers and began to weep. "Goodbye, old friend, and you should know you were loved very much."


End file.
